


Emergency

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek A-Z Challenge [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-10-18 07:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10612113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “I really need Scott right now, it’s an emergency. Stiles is in the hospital—”If she said anything else after those words, Derek didn’t hear them. Panic, sharp and suffocating, rose to the surface and it was like he suddenly couldn’t breathe. The words kept repeating in his brain, over and over, and the longer he sat there, the more panicked he felt. Stiles was in the hospital? What had happened?Whathadhappened?! Where the fuck was Scott?! He was the Alpha, he was supposed to stop his pack from ever being injured.Shit, was Stiles dying?!“I’ll be right there.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis  
> Clue (c) A.E. Parker

The sound of falling rain outside his window was soothing in a way that he had never really been able to fully explain. It was just one of those comforts that people enjoyed from inside their own home, but dreaded having to go out into.

Derek himself tended not to leave the loft unless absolutely necessary. Especially nowadays, with the weather being how it was. He was content to sit on one of the cushy couches with a book and listen to the rain fall while engrossed in some tale of mystery.

Considering his life, Laura used to make fun of him for always reading mystery books growing up. One would think he’d have had enough with the unknown for a lifetime, but there was something satisfying about reading all the hints in a piece of work and accurately determining that it _was_ , in fact, Colonel Mustard in the Dining Room with the candlestick.

Not that he’d ever read the _Clue_  books. They weren’t his thing, he preferred the nitty gritty kind of mysteries, with murder and adventure and—okay, _maybe_  some romance thrown in there, too.

It was just nice to read the unrealistic “guy always gets the girl” trope. Derek himself didn’t particularly want to “get the girl,” but it would be nice if he could “get the one he’d been pining after since having met him years ago.”

He wasn’t holding his breath, though. Besides, he’d rather have a friendship than nothing, at this point, and so much had happened since Derek’s return to Beacon Hills that he didn’t want to push his luck. People were still pretty sore about him having left, so he was trying to ease himself back into their lives.

Three weeks, and counting. So far, he felt like he was doing all right. Not _great_ , but all right. Still didn’t like the shit Scott had turned, but he was tolerable. Didn’t know where Kira had gone, but it had made Scott more focussed on being a real Alpha.

He hadn’t bothered to learn any of the other people in the group’s names. He was just glad Lydia and Malia were still around for him to ask questions of. Scott had been busy with Alpha things.

Derek had been avoiding Stiles.

Outside of pack meetings and any sort of weird situation that required his assistance, Derek made sure to stay away from any one-on-ones with Stiles.

He actually made it a point to keep an ear out for when he could determine Stiles’ jeep was on its way to the loft so he could conveniently step out before he got there. Derek wasn’t ready to face Stiles. After everything he knew had happened—courtesy of Lydia—he didn’t want to hear Stiles telling him how they’d needed him, how he’d abandoned them, how Derek should’ve just stayed gone.

He could handle a lot, but not that. Not from Stiles.

 _Especially_  not from Stiles.

Scott had already implied it, he’d just ignored him. Scott’s opinion meant nothing to him when he’d spent the first few years of being an Alpha thinking with his dick instead of his head.

Yes, Derek had made mistakes, sleeping with the enemy and all that, but at least he owned up to it _and_  at the time, he hadn’t been thinking with his dick.

If he’d been thinking with his dick, it wouldn’t have been Jennifer Blake or Braeden in his bed, but it wasn’t exactly like he was going to say these things to Scott. So he just left things as they were, continued to avoid Stiles, and slowly tried to integrate himself back into the fold.

He had missed this. Their mismatched pack. He hadn’t realized how much until he’d returned. It had been like being home. Pack was family, blood ties didn’t matter, and he’d missed his family.

Derek was getting into the obligatory sex scene of the book he was reading when his cell phone began to vibrate on the coffee table. He contemplated leaving it to ring, but then remembered that he was back with the pack and people would be calling him for a reason as opposed to just for a chat. He’d gotten way too used to ignoring his phone living away from this crazy place he called home.

Reaching out for his phone, he snagged it between his fingers and brought it up to eye level, frowning when he didn’t recognize the number. He almost let it go to voicemail before deciding that could be a bad idea. It could be someone who’d lost their cellphone being hunted by some weird Greek mythology creature.

Apparently that had happened while he’d been gone. Who knew?

Answering before it cut to voicemail, he put the phone to his ear, hearing the loud hustle and bustle of activity in the background and an intercom going off.

“Hello?”

_“Derek! Finally! Someone who answers their phone!”_

He frowned, feeling like he should recognize the voice, but not managing it in that moment. Before he could ask who was speaking, they continued and he figured it out on his own.

_“I tried calling Scott, but he isn’t answering. I couldn’t reach Lydia, either. Do you know where Scott is? I need him, now!”_

“Sorry, I don’t.” He closed his book and sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the couch and reaching forward to set it down on the coffee table. Mrs. McCall sounded a little frantic, so he figured he should give her his full attention. “What is it? Can I help with something?” Anything to get back into the pack’s good graces.

_“I really need Scott right now, it’s an emergency. Stiles is in the hospital—”_

If she said anything else after those words, Derek didn’t hear them. Panic, sharp and suffocating, rose to the surface and it was like he suddenly couldn’t breathe. The words kept repeating in his brain, over and over, and the longer he sat there, the more panicked he felt. Stiles was in the hospital? What had happened? _What_  had _happened_?! Where the fuck was Scott?! He was the Alpha, he was supposed to stop his pack from ever being injured.

Shit, was Stiles dying?!

“I’ll be right there.” He hung up before she could say any more, lurching to his feet and rushing for the door. He was in such a hurry to leave that he forgot to grab a jacket, racing down the stairs with his phone still clutched tightly in his hand. He flew out of the building, the rain soaking through his shirt instantly and plastering his hair to his forehead.

The water hitting his skin was cold and biting, but he could barely feel it over the panic still rising in his throat. He just bolted for the Camaro and threw himself into it once he’d gotten the door unlocked and open. Starting the car took longer than he’d have liked, hands shaking so badly he could barely shove the key into the ignition. When he finally did and turned it, he was in such a hurry to leave he forgot to shift and almost plowed straight into a wall.

Forcing himself to calm down and ignore how terrifying it was to know Mrs. McCall had been desperately trying to reach Scott—and what that meant—Derek managed to shift properly and turn the car out onto the road. He did his best not to speed, feeling like he would rip someone’s throat out with his teeth if they tried to stop him to give him a ticket. He just kept a steady pace—perhaps slightly faster than was wise, but not too high over the limit—and managed to reach the hospital within seven minutes.

Parking in an empty spot as close as he could get without having to look for one, he raced through the rain to the front of the building, bursting inside so fast he slammed into the still opening automatic door, clipping his shoulder. He almost tore the thing clean off, but the door somehow remained in place. Taking the stairs two at a time since the elevator would literally drive him crazy waiting for it, he slammed through the doors at the top and rushed to the closest nurse’s station.

“Stiles Stilinski,” he said to the nurse immediately, interrupting whatever she was doing and gripping the counter tightly with both hands. He was dripping water everywhere, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

She looked up at him, startled, and blinked stupidly at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Stiles!” Derek snapped, slamming one hand on the counter. “Stilinski! He was brought in here, where is he?”

The woman seemed put off by his rudeness but she didn’t comment on it, she just made an annoyed face and began typing away on her computer. For a second, he wondered if she was ignoring him for being rude, but when she spoke, he figured she probably would rather get rid of him. Which he was fine with, as long as she gave him what he needed.

“There’s no one admitted by that name.”

“Look again!” Derek shouted, ignoring the fact that he _knew_  Stiles wasn’t his first name. He was too panicked to mention that, brain caught in a loop of “find Stiles, find Stiles, find Stiles.”

“Sir, if you continue to shout, I’ll have to call security,” the nurse said sternly, but she began typing again, frowning. “There’s a Stilinski admitted, but—”

“Where? What room?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, he just reached over the counter and twisted the screen, ignoring her squawk of indignation. The second his eyes caught sight of the words “surgery,” he turned and ran in that direction, almost taking out one of the orderlies. He didn’t stop to apologize, just side-stepped at the last second and kept running, the nurse shouting after him.

His eyes scanned the signs while he ran, his panic mounting at the thought that maybe Stiles was dying on an operating table somewhere. He was halfway across the waiting room to try the other side when he skid to a halt, eyes catching sight of a familiar red hoodie.

Stiles was sitting in the waiting room, hands buried in his hair and shoulders tense. He was completely dry, suggesting he’d been there for a while, at least long enough for the rain to dry from his clothes. The relief at seeing him washed through Derek so fast that he felt ready to collapse into one of the empty chairs. He was going to kill Mrs. McCall for making him worry like this.

He’d taken two steps towards Stiles when he caught the scent of tears. Tears and anxiety and terror.

Derek stopped in front of him, hesitating before touching him and deciding against it, clenching his hand into a fist and letting it fall back to his side.

“Stiles?”

His head rose slowly, and Derek felt panic again at the sight of red-rimmed eyes and still-falling tears. Stiles cleared his throat and sat up straighter, using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe at his nose and crossing his arms almost defensively.

“What are you doing here?”

“Scott’s mom called,” he said slowly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“Oh,” was what Stiles said. Just that.

Derek opened his mouth when a voice behind him snapped, “There he is!”

Turning, he saw the nurse with a security guard. The guy looked hesitant to even approach Derek, hand on the butt of the baton at his hip. He was saved having to do anything when Mrs. McCall appeared.

“I figured if there was trouble, it’d be you,” she said with a sigh. “It’s okay, Susan. He’s one of mine.”

Derek would forever deny the fact that hearing her call him “one of hers” made his chest swell a little bit, happiness at belonging _somewhere_  filling him.

“You should teach him some manners,” the snappy nurse said, glaring at Derek before turning on her heel. The security guard, seeming relieved, hurried to follow.

“How’s my dad?” Stiles asked immediately, standing when Mrs. McCall approached.

The words made Derek feel stupid, realizing what he’d missed of the nurse’s words over the phone when she’d first called.

Yes, Stiles was at the hospital. But not because he was hurt.

Because his father was.

“Still in surgery,” she said in a low, soothing voice, reaching out to rub his back and looking sad. “I’m checking in as much as I can. Tried Scott again, too.”

Stiles sank back into his seat, absolutely reeking of misery, and buried his hands in his hair again. Mrs. McCall caught Derek’s eye and jerked her head. He didn’t want to leave Stiles, but given his greeting, he wasn’t entirely sure of his welcome.

Following the nurse towards the corridor so they weren’t quite so close to Stiles, he turned to her once the teen was out of sight. “What happened?” he demanded.

“Domestic disturbance,” she said in a low voice, crossing her arms, as if to protect herself. “It wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous situation, the sheriff’s department gets calls from that house all the time. Noah decided to go out this time, and things didn’t go as planned. He was shot.”

Hearing that made Derek feel sick. Stiles had lost his mother at a young age, and now he ran the risk of losing his father if things went badly with the surgery. His best friend was MIA, and the only person who’d shown up when he needed comfort the most was someone who’d left without a word and had decided it was time to come back.

Oh, and who’d been avoiding him. That too.

Derek was probably the _last_  person Stiles wanted to see right then, and that killed him, because he _wanted_  to be there for him. He wanted to sit beside him, rub his back, insist everything was going to be okay. He wanted to do those things, he wanted to be someone Stiles could lean on right now.

It was more likely he’d be asked to leave.

“Can you stay with him?” Mrs. McCall asked, hunching her shoulders as if she were cold. “I don’t want him to be alone, but I need to keep an eye on his father’s surgery. I want to try and reach Scott, too. He should be here.”

Derek just nodded once and turned on his heel without waiting for her to say anything else. The only person who could make him leave Stiles right now was Stiles himself. Anyone else, and he would rip their throats out.

Moving back into the waiting room, Derek hesitated on whether or not he should sit before realizing hovering would be weird so he settled into the seat on Stiles’ right.

He kept his gaze locked on Stiles, the other’s hands still buried in his hair and the smell of misery overpowering. He had to say something, he _knew_  he did, but this wasn’t something he was good at. Comforting others.

So many people in his life had died, and he found more people comforting _him_  because of it. Not that the sheriff was dying—Derek would drag him back from death if need be, for Stiles’ sake—but he still wasn’t sure how to help. He wasn’t even sure of his welcome.

Deciding that it couldn’t hurt to try, he hesitantly reached out and followed through with the action he’d been thinking about moments before, letting his hand fall onto Stiles’ back. His muscles were tense beneath his fingers, and Derek could feel him trembling. The hands in Stiles’ hair seemed to tighten, but he didn’t pull away or tell Derek to leave, so he began rubbing slow circles against his back.

They sat in silence for a long while, Derek listening to the erratic thumping of Stiles’ heart. He could tell the teen was barely keeping panic attacks at bay, his breathing beginning to quicken whenever his heart did before his fingers would tighten in his hair and he would force his breathing to slow. His heart would follow soon afterwards, but it didn’t last long. It would always pick back up within a few minutes.

Derek just kept rubbing circles, eyes locked on Stiles, making sure to watch for any signs of distress.

Well, _more_  distress, since it was obvious Stiles was pretty freaking distressed right now.

Turning to check the time on the clock, Derek noted he’d been there for almost twenty minutes. Still no Scott. It made him wonder how long Stiles had been sitting there, alone and terrified. And miserable. How long had he been here before Mrs. McCall had remembered Derek was back and had called him?

It made him angry to think about, because he remembered that Stiles was dry when he’d found him. If he was dry, he’d been there a while. The rain had been pouring all day, and even if Stiles had parked in the closest spot available, he’d still have gotten soaked through going from his jeep to the entrance.

He’d been alone for at least an hour before Derek had shown up.

“Why did you leave us?”

Derek turned back to Stiles at those words, hand freezing on his back.

“Were we not good enough for you? I know we’re not the best pack in the world, or the most functional, but I thought we meant something to each other.”

He felt guilt coiling in his stomach, burning its way up into his lungs.

“I didn’t leave because of the pack. I needed to find Kate. I had to stop her from hurting anyone else.”

Stiles said nothing to that, and when he didn’t make any move to shrug Derek’s hand off, the werewolf returned to rubbing slow circles.

Another brief bout of silence before he spoke again.

“Did you even miss us?”

He contemplated lying, but saw no reason to lie to Stiles. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you call or something?” Stiles sat up then, sniffing and wiping his nose with his sleeve again. The new position made it hard to rub his back so Derek let his hand slide to the chairback instead, keeping it draped along its edge behind Stiles’ back.

“I didn’t think anyone would want to hear from me.”

Stiles snorted, wiping at his face in full with the opposite sleeve of his hoodie, probably to avoid getting snot all over his cheeks. “Of course. Why would anyone want to hear from you to confirm you were still alive and breathing? How stupid of me.”

Derek hadn’t thought of that.

“I didn’t think of that,” he admitted aloud.

Stiles just shrugged at that, leaning forward so his forearms rested against his thighs, hands clasped together loosely. He turned to look at Derek, giving him a brief once over.

“You’re wet.”

“It’s raining,” Derek replied.

“Where’s your jacket?”

“Forgot it.”

“Didn’t notice it was raining?”

He hesitated. “Mrs. McCall said you were at the hospital. I got worried.”

The weird thump of Stiles’ heart then was _not_  related to worries about his father, and a small smile teased the corners of his lips. “You were worried about me?”

“I thought it was you in the hospital,” he muttered, pulling his arm back and crossing them over his chest. “I didn’t stop to grab a jacket, I just left.”

The smile widened ever so slightly. It wasn’t anywhere near being one of Stiles’ usual, cheerful smiles, but it was enough considering the circumstances.

“Thanks. For caring, I mean.”

“I _do_  care,” Derek insisted, frowning in annoyance. “You’re pack.”

“It’s still nice to know you care.” Stiles looked at the clock, and then stared down at his fingers, playing with the skin along the edges of his nails.

When they lapsed back into silence, Derek returned to rubbing his back.

Derek’s clothes were dry by the time Mrs. McCall returned. Stiles was on his feet again, just like the last time, with Derek following suit. The werewolf felt a weight lift off him at the smile on her face and the relief in her voice at being able to give Stiles good news.

“He’s out of surgery. They’re moving him to ICU now, but he’s stable and they say he’s gonna be just fine after some rest.”

Stiles turned away from her, rubbing at his face and thanking higher powers. Raking his hands through his hair, he turned back to Scott’s mother, then moved forward, reaching out his arms to hug her. She hugged him back tightly, rubbing his back for a few seconds before they pulled apart.

“Can I see him?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms and shifting his weight, clearly eager to get moving, to see his father.

“Not yet,” she said softly, reaching out to rub his arm. “Once he’s moved to a room, I’ll come find you, okay?”

Stiles nodded, Mrs. McCall giving him another smile, squeezing his arm gently, and then turning so she could get back to work.

The teen fell heavily into his seat, rubbing at his face again. Derek could smell tears once more, but he didn’t comment on it, knowing he was relieved. Derek was relieved, too. Stiles aside, the sheriff was a good man, and his loss would’ve hit everyone hard.

Taking a seat beside Stiles once more, he watched him rub furiously at his face, then rake both hands into his hair, shifting his gaze to Derek.

“Thanks. For staying with me.”

“I can stay longer.”

He’d almost expected Stiles to say, “Nah, it’s cool.” like he would’ve in the past. Surprisingly, he didn’t. He just gave Derek a small, grateful smile, and leaned back in his seat, letting out a slow breath and rubbing his face once more.

They sat in silence, Derek watching the clock, hoping for the move to happen quickly. Not because he wanted to leave, but because seeing the sheriff would probably help alleviate a lot of the stress Stiles still felt. He wanted him to know his father truly _was_  okay.

It was almost half an hour later when running footsteps were heard down the corridor. Derek recognized who was coming before even seeing him, Scott skidding to a halt at the entrance of the waiting room.

“Stiles!”

Stiles was out of his chair instantly, hurrying over to Scott. The other teen closed the distance just as quickly, the two of them throwing their arms around each other, hugging tightly.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been here. I should’ve checked my phone. Is he okay? What happened?”

Scott was talking a mile a minute, and Derek could see how genuinely sorry he was. He was still hugging Stiles, even while continuing to ask him questions about how his father was and how much they knew about his condition.

When they finally pulled apart, they stayed standing, speaking quickly to one another. Scott had one hand on Stiles’ arm, as if wanting to keep touching him, to ensure he knew that he wasn’t alone.

Figuring his presence was no longer needed, despite wanting to stay, Derek stood. He watched the two continue to speak for a few seconds, then sighed softly and made sure he still had everything before heading back for the corridor.

He started to pass the other two when he felt fingers curling into the back of his shirt and yanking him back.

“Where are you going?” Stiles asked, interrupting Scott’s question to him.

When Derek turned to look at him, he saw panic in Stiles’ expression, like he thought Derek was going to leave again and never come back.

Derek’s gaze shifted to Scott, the other werewolf staring right back at him.

“I—” Stiles looked so panicked and miserable that the words caught in his throat, and instead of saying he was about to leave, he said, “was going to get coffee.”

The way Stiles relaxed made something clench in Derek’s chest. Jesus, he loved this hyperactive idiot. Knowing that Stiles wanted him to stay while he went through this, even though Scott was there, was the most amazing feeling.

“Oh. Can you get me some juice or something? I can’t handle caffeine right now.”

“Sugar’s not much better,” Scott insisted.

“Sugar is perfect for me right now, dude. Don’t try to stop me from getting juice, man. Not cool.”

Before Scott could respond, Derek cut in. “Sure, I’ll get juice. Scott?”

Conceding defeat, Scott sighed. “I’m fine. Thanks.” He slapped Derek in the arm, the action awkward, but at least he was trying.

Nodding and promising to be right back, Derek turned and headed down the corridor. Despite the circumstances, Derek felt relief at the fact that he and Stiles were okay. There wasn’t any judgement or resentment. Just confusion and hurt, but that was something Derek could fix. That was something he would work to fix.

For now, he just had to be there for Stiles. Once his father was okay, he could focus on the rest.

Derek made it all the way to the end of the corridor before realizing he had no idea where he was going. Inhaling deeply, he bit the bullet and turned to Susan at the nurse’s station, her angry glower following him the entire way.

“Hi… Where can I get juice?”

**END.**


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